


farm to table

by Oshii



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Sam Winchester, Food Poisoning, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean Winchester, Vomiting, Witch Hex, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: Dean eats some delicious roadside pie, baked with wholesome specialty ingredients. Sam sighs. H/C, emeto, pukey!Dean.





	farm to table

“Stop the car,” Dean groaned, hunching forward, face going ominously white. “’m gonna puke again.”

Sam pulled over with all due haste, the Impala rocking on her old frame, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Dean wrenched the passenger door open before the dust had cleared, still billowing, and leaned out to retch painfully into the dirt. Not much was left on his stomach, mostly just stomach acid and bile.

“Jeez,” Sam murmured, already reaching for the water and napkins, used to the drill by now. “Still not outta your system, huh?”

Dean panted, trying to catch his breath, exerted from his body’s rebellion.

“…burns,” he groaned, eyes streaming, one hand going up to clasp his middle. A string of mucus dangled from his lip, and he spit harshly into the puddle at his feet, trying to dislodge it. He failed, and groaned again, nausea already mounting once more. “Oh God…”

Sam’s brow furrowed deeper as Dean, again, doubled over with a squeezing retch, bringing up a thin stream of bile, the tail end of his stomach contents. “Damn, dude,” Sam admonished, tone soft, and reached out to give his back a compassionate rub. “You gonna make it? Should we find a place to stop?”

Dean sagged beneath Sam’s touch, hanging halfway out of the car, braced against the doorframe. The hazards blinked in the greying evening light, illuminating the lonely roadside. Slowly, shakily, Dean was able to take the offered water bottle and rinse his mouth, spitting thickly onto the ground, and settle himself back into the seat, slamming the door shut with hopeful finality.

“Ugh, God…” he grated out, one hand resting on his sore stomach, the other still gripping the water bottle. “Let’s just go, Sammy. And no more pit stops at shady Patsy’s Pie places.”

“Roger,” Sam replied, unable to hide the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk of sad amusement as he threw the car in gear and pulled back onto the road, accelerating up to speed and heading toward town. He doubted this unfortunate predicament would completely abolish Dean’s love for pie, but he figured he’d think twice next time before ordering homemade rhubarb “made with a dash of love!” from a festering old coven of bitter widowed witches in disguise.

_Oh, my,_  one of them had exclaimed, cataract eyes widening as Dean had strode up to the counter.  _Aren’t you the spitting image of my Earl!_

_Well, I dunno about that,_ his brother had drawled, flashing a winning smile, _but I’m sure Earl ate  a bunch of tasty pies in his day. No apple? Strawberry rhubarb it is. Thanks, ladies!_


End file.
